Memories of Meals
by Lovely Little Wordsmith
Summary: Food has an uncanny habit of lodging itself in one's memories. The aroma, the taste, even the appearance can manage to stay with someone for a lifetime. So when one comes into contact with a certain food, even many years later, that food can bring about memories, both pleasant and unpleasant. (Short stories centered around the different types of foods in the series)


Sunny Baudelaire's culinary skills had grown nearly as fast as she had in the past three years. Taking pride in the unique dishes that she made for her siblings, she took it upon herself to fix dinner each evening. Of course, Violet, Klaus, and even Beatrice would aid her however they could, but it was clear that Sunny was the head chef.

Often times, Beatrice—or Bea, as the Baudelaires had taken to calling her—would sit on the counter while Sunny sauteed freshly cut onions for a stirfry or cut up durain for a particularly exotic fruit salad. The young chef would discuss the day's events with her, stopping occasionally to offer the girl a taste of the food and asking for suggestions. Beatrice, being only four years old, could form short sentences and offered advice as best she could. Klaus and Violet would take turn setting the table and chopping the necessary vegetables, letting Sunny work out the finer details.

It was an arrangement that the Baudelaires all took comfort in. Throughout their separate activities during the day, they could count on coming together in the evening to prepare and partake in a delicious meal.

Today, however, had been a taxing day on the young girl and she found that she couldn't decide on a recipe. Her mind swarmed with various different topics, none of them relating to dinner in the slightest. She slumped on the kitchen stool holding her head in her hands, and this was how her sister found her.

"Sunny, are you alright?"

Sunny looked up to see Violet watching her with concern from the kitchen's doorway. The eldest Baudelaire was still wearing her greased-covered work gloves, but her hair was down, suggesting that she was taking a break from her inventions. After all these years, it was easy for her to read the expressions of her siblings and sense when something was wrong. "Today's been difficult for you, hasn't it?"

"Yes," Sunny sighed, chin resting in her hands. She took a deep breath, knowing that the next flow of words was going to be not unlike a waterfall. "Mrs. Barham wanted two dozen petite lemon tarts for her Sunday tea party and when I went to deliver them, she said that the had never ordered lemon and that she wanted raspberry instead. She demanded that I bring something else for her guests, which I told her would be impossible considering the short notice. But she was wrong, Violet, I know that she ordered lemon. She's just being difficult."

The eldest Baudelaire took a seat beside her sister and gently pulled her into a hug. "I'm sorry, Sunny." She understood the reasons why Sunny began to advertise her cooking skills at such a young age and was proud of her, but a small part of her wished that Sunny didn't have to worry about such matters.

"You know, she's really the one missing out," Violet added. "Your lemon tarts are delicious."

Sunny laughed and hugged her sister back. "We'll be having them for dessert," she said and then smiled sheepishly. "Although, I suppose I should figure out dinner before dessert."

Violet blinked. "Actually…" Her voice trailed off as she quickly pulled her gloves off and reached into her pocket to pull out her ribbon.

"Um, Violet?"

"Sunny, you don't have to figure out dinner," Violet said as she tied her hair up. "The rest of us will take care of it. You do so much for us. You deserve a relaxing evening." She stood up and called out for Klaus and Beatrice, who both came into the kitchen shortly, Klaus carrying the younger child.

"Klaus, Bea, we're going to make dinner tonight," Violet explained. "Sunny's taking the night off."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Klaus said. He thought for moment before shooting his older sister a knowing look. "I think I know what we can prepare."

Without waiting for a reply, he began to pull out the necessary ingredients along with several several pots and pans.

"It's really kind of you to do this," Sunny said hastily, "But I can make dinner."

"Oh, no, Sunny," Violet said, ushering her sister out of the kitchen. "Klaus, Bea, and I will take care of everything. You deserve to rest."

"You can't cook!" Sunny objected.

"Don't worry, Sunny," Klaus reassured from the stove, the heat fogging his glasses as he brought the water to a boil. "I'll help her out."

"You can't cook either," Sunny said in dismay. "Really, I can make dinner."

"Out!" Beatrice said with all the commanding tone of a four year old can posses.

And with that last command, Sunny found herself alone in the dining room, the kitchen door closed behind her.

 **...**

After a worrying half hour, spent setting the table, absentmindedly skimming through cookbooks, and listening at the kitchen door for the fire alarm, Sunny Baudelaire finally felt relief at seeing her siblings emerge from the kitchen with no scent of smoke.

"Okay, Sunny," Violet said, "Dinner is served."

Sunny could see her sister in the dining room door, hair in a ribbon and pitcher in her right hand, and Klaus behind her carrying a large serving bowl. Her eyes then shifted lower to see the little Snicket following with a large pair of tongs in her hands.

"Can you guess what we're having?" Klaus asked.

Sunny Baudelaire didn't have to guess what they were having. She didn't have to guess because she already knew.

Food has an uncanny habit of lodging itself in one's memories. The aroma, the taste, even the appearance can manage to stay with someone for a lifetime. So when one comes into contact with a certain food, even many years later, that food can bring about memories, both pleasant and unpleasant.

This was the case with Sunny Baudelaire. The aroma from the serving bowl that Klaus held brought her back into the untidy kitchen of their first guardian. She remembered singing and banging on a pot while her older siblings worked on cooking a meal for Olaf and his theater troupe.

Life had seemed miserable, but those moments in the kitchen had been a brief moment of happiness. They hadn't known that that was just the beginning of a series of unfortunate events and, for the first time, they hadn't thought of the unfortunate fire. It wasn't sadness that lingered in the meal's aroma, instead she found that the brief moment of warmth and happiness with her siblings had remained instead.

As Klaus took the spoon from Beatrice and served the pasta puttanesca, Sunny felt a smile sneak upon her face. She really shouldn't have been surprised, it was the single meal she knew for sure that Violet and Klaus could successfully make. That thought alone caused a light laugh to escape her. Their surroundings were different, their situations were different, even _they_ were different, but still the warmth and joy of the meal remained the same.


End file.
